


Grey Area

by Strigoi17



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon Compliant, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strigoi17/pseuds/Strigoi17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The color grey, to John, was that of an improbability.</p>
<p>                Honestly, he had never seen it as a color before – and why should he, honestly, when he could phrase it as off-white or even, as he had lit slip once to Dave, light black. Unlike how he had let on, it wasn’t the commonplace blandness of the color he disliked – it was the simple fact that light grey and dark grey were still grey, but at the same time still black and just as equally still white.</p>
<p>                The same he could say for many colors, for purple or for orange – but at least, he internally rebutted, they had some type of emotion, some variance on address, openly interpretable as either may be. There were direct shades of purple, hues that bent a play on eyes into a mood, into a story – grey sat, alone, and stared directly at you.</p>
<p>                The color grey scared John, in the abysmal niche of his mind.</p>
<p>                When it appeared on his screen, it unnerved him roughly as much as the foreign handle did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Area

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess the coloring isn't working for the pesterlogs? I mean, I can't see it.  
> So hell.

The color grey, to John, was that of an improbability.

Honestly, he had never seen it as a color before – and why should he, honestly, when he could phrase it as off-white or even, as he had lit slip once to Dave, light black. Unlike how he had let on, it wasn’t the commonplace blandness of the color he disliked – it was the simple fact that light grey and dark grey were still grey, but at the same time still black and just as equally still white.

The same he could say for many colors, for purple or for orange – but at least, he internally rebutted, they had some type of emotion, some variance on address, openly interpretable as either may be. There were direct shades of purple, hues that bent a play on eyes into a mood, into a story – grey sat, alone, and stared directly at you.

The color grey scared John, in the abysmal niche of his mind.

When it appeared on his screen, it unnerved him roughly as much as the foreign handle did.

 

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 1:45! –

Momentarily, he focused only on the text, solely on the unidentified name. Simply it – its presence – stirred something in his stomach, coaxed him into a state of torturously vague déjà vu.

CG: PREPARE, HUMAN.

CG: FOR YOU ARE IN FOR THE MAGNIFICENT TROLLING OF A LIFETIME.

EB: um.

CG: COME ON.

CG: SURELY YOU COULD GIVE BETTER GREETING TO SOMEONE SO MUCH HIGHER THAN YOU.

CG: I AM A LEADER.

CG: THE CHARGER OF SOULS.

CG: ANSWER MY QUESTIONS.

A quiet laugh bubbled from John’s lips; he flinched at the noise and, swallowing serpentine coils of barbed wire, glanced at his door. Regardless of whether he was supposed to be on or not, he had roped in a goldmine. This prick’s logs would look sweet to Dave in the morning.

EB: who even are you, dude?

CG: YOU DON’T NEED OR DESERVE TO KNOW MY NAME.

CG: MY CHRISTENED TITLE IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, JOHN EGBERT.

EB: whoa wait up.

CG: WHAT?

CG: SHIT, CAN’T YOU LET ME TALK?

EB: how do you know my name?

CG: SAME BASIS AS YOUR QUALIFICATION IN KNOWING MINE.

EB: okay?

CG: WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW IT, ANYWAY?

CG: WHAT EXACTLY IS SO DAMN IMPORTANT?

CG: CAN’T YOUR PUNEY HUMAN THINKPAN COMPREHEND ANONYMITY?

John reclined, his chair testifying with the shrill whine of weary plastic.

EB: well, i need something to call you.

EB: do i maybe know you from somewhere?

CG: NO.

CG: I AM A GOD COMPARED TO YOU, JOHN EGBERT.

EB: sure.

EB: i’m guessing you’re one of those people who jumped on my handle when i put it on my neopets?

CG: WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS A NEOPET.

EB: never mind then.

EB: do i get a name yet?

CG: NO.

EB: well again, i need something!

EB: if you are not going to give me one,

EB: could i give you one?

CG: NO.

He squinted at his screen. Almost desperate, John’s mind hastened through his mental name bank, roving for a name that fit this person – presumably this male. It struck him, then, that this faceless man was nameless officially, and this matched the rest of him. He – or perhaps, just maybe, hopefully she – was an entity of obscurity; the mental embodiment of a belligerent grey area.

EB: rumpelstiltskin.

CG: IS THAT ONE OF YOUR HUMAN CELEBRITIES?

EB: yes.

EB: and quite a cool dude!

EB: he’s in all my favorite movies.

CG: OH REALLY?

EB: yeah!

EB: (hehehe.)

CG: THEN WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME HIS NAME??

EB: because.

Herculean and bestial, his house settled with a puff of fire and exhaustion. The dragon was tired, and around him, it relaxed.

EB: in one of his best movies,

EB: he played this guy who was a real douche.

EB: he helped this girl out, then bailed on her.

EB: well technically, she bailed on him.

CG: WHAT RELEVENCY DOES THIS HAVE TOWARD ME?

EB: either way, some stuff happened, and she had to hand over her kid.

EB: she really didn’t want to, because hey! that’s my kid you’re taking!

EB: and in the end, rumpelstiltskin ended up letting her keep her kid.

EB: that is!

EB: if she could guess his name in three days.

CG: SO YOU’RE COMPARING ME TO WHAT.

CG: SOME SHITBAG OF A WRIGGLER-STEALER?

EB: exactly.

EB: whatever that means, i’m sure i’ve hit it spot-on.

With another reticent snicker, John played the infidel. He dug one foot into his hardwood floor, pushing his chair back a small ways from his desk. This was a game he would win.

CG: NO, I CERTAINLY AM NOT.

EB: mhm.

CG: I’M NOTHING LIKE THAT, JOHN EGBERT.

EB: then give me a name!

CG: NO.

EB: alright then.

EB: rumpelstiltskin.

CG: SHUT YOUR SHIT-SHOVELING MOUTH.

EB: then give me your name.

EB: it’s really simple, dude.

CG: BUT AGAIN I TELL YOU THAT IT IS NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS.

EB: okay then.

EB: what is my damn business?

CG: WHY DO YOU NEED TO FUCKING KNOW THAT, EITHER?

EB: you are being a douche bag.

A pause in the flow of text, a pause long enough to let John fall back once again. His back thudding against the black of his chair, he glared at the static screen in boiling expectation.

CG: …WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW IT, ANYWAY?

Progress.

EB: because i want to.

EB: shrug.

CG: THAT ISN’T MUCH OF AN ANSWER.

EB: well, you know mine…

EB: so why can’t i know yours?

CG: I

CG: BECAUSE

CG: FUCK YOU OKAY

EB: um.

CG: YOUR LUSUS WAS A SQUEAKBEAST.

EB: my what?

CG: YOUR GUARDIAN.

EB: my… dad?

CG: SURE.

CG: WHAT THE FUCK EVER.

CG: YOU PERSONALLY ARE AN INGLORIOUS SHITSPONGE.

CG: YOU CAN’T EVEN COMPREHEND PROPER TROLLING.

EB: that’s just because you aren’t doing it right.

CG: I’M NOT DOING IT RIGHT?

CG: HAHA.

CG: FUCK YOU, JOHN EGBERT.

CG: FUCK YOU SO HARD YOUR BODY FUCKING EXPLODES.

EB: …

CG: AERTYUDPOUTJ[SIUJAIU5;SRTJS;R KTOMS’TKL

EB: …………..

CG: KARKAT.

EB: what?

CG: MY NAME’S KARKAT.

CG: ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

CG: FUCK, YOUR MINISCULE HUMAN THINKPAN.

CG: IS IT SATISFIED?

CG: KARKAT VANTAS.

CG: NOOK DESTROYER.

He was exhausted. Too bleary-eyed and stiff-necked to ponder on or guess what a think pan was, exactly; supporting all of his weight, both elbows skidded to prop him up just before his keyboard. With eyes half-closed,

EB: what’s a nook, exactly?

CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD, PISS ON FUCKING EVERYTHING.

CG: WHAT KIND OF LAME SHITSACK DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A NOOK IS?

CG: HAVEN'T YOU TAKEN BASIC ANATOMY CLASSES?

EB: dude.

EB: it’s two am.

CG: IT’S…

CG: A CERTAIN PART IN YOUR BACKSIDE.

EB: what?

CG: SHIT, HOW DO I EVEN EXPLAIN THIS?

CG: LIKE, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY.

EB: look, i will be right back, okay?

EB: you just figure that out while i’m gone.

CG: OH.

CG: OKAY.

CG: THANK S FOR GIVING ME TIME.

To be completely truthful, John had never had coffee. In the entire twelve years he had lived with his dad, and the seven times he successfully made him coffee on Father’s Day, he himself had never tasted it. As he took it black, it burned his mouth and he seethed; he bat away the taste under the assumption that this was simply how coffee tasted, and that there was no helping it.

CG: HOW LONG DO YOU HAVE TO BE?

CG: WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?

– ectoBiologist [EB] has become an idle chum! –

CG: WHAT EVEN.

He climbed the stairs with weariness concentrated on the red Mickey Mouse cup in his hands. On the third step from the top, he almost spilled the whole thing.

CG: EGBERT HUMAN, I HAVE AN ANSWER FOR YOU.

CG: I WAIT FOR YOUR RETURN.

EB: okay, shoot, i guess.

CG: I USED TROLL GOOGLE.

CG: A NOOK IS WHAT HUMANS CALL AN ANUS.

CG: I THINK.

Coffee dribbled from John’s mouth as he stared at pesterchum in awe.

EB: …oh.

CG: WHAT?

EB: nothing, nothing.

CG: UM. OKAY.

He scrolled up in the log, for reassurance and certainty.

EB: so, karkat.

EB: tell me why you pestered me.

CG: NO.

CG: JUST STRAIGHT NO.

EB: yes.

CG: WHY.

EB: yes.

CG: …

CG: IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU.

EB: okay?

EB: so?

CG: OKAY MAYBE IT HAS EVERYTHING IN THE FUCKING UNIVERSE TO DO WITH YOU.

EB: explain that, then.

CG: TECHNICALLY, I MAY OR MAY NOT BE KILLING YOU RIGHT NOW.

EB: …

John’s fingers locked up, hovering stiffly above his keyboard.

Largely like a fly was to a moth, Karkat was anything but a threat to John; but the line of heavily emphasized grey text rose the hairs shadowing the back of his neck.

CG: SAYING “I’M FROM THE FUTURE” WILL PROBABLY MAKE ME SOUND LIKE A DOUCHENOZZLE.

CG: I’VE BACKPEDALLED IN THIS TIMELINE TO SEE IF PREPARING YOU EARLY WILL HELP AT ALL.

John’s fingers locked up and hovered stiffly above his keyboard.

CG: HOW OLD ARE YOU, JOHN?

Far-fetched was an understatement. A horridly bland understatement, vague and put-offish as light black. This window needed to be closed before he got himself into trouble.

He answered Karkat immediately.

EB: twelve.

CG: HOW LONG AGO DID YOU CHANGE YOUR HANDLE?

He was falling into an altruistic trust. Egged on by a stirring, resplendent wind in his chest, he just went with him.

EB: a few days ago.

CG: OKAY.

CG: DATE?

EB: today’s?

CG: OH WOW.

CG: YES, JOHN.

EB: august 5.

CG: …

CH: OKAY, YEAH, THAT WORKS.

EB: what are you trying to do?

CG: HOLD ON.

CG: TWO FUCKING SECONDS.

EB: okay.

Two seconds turned into two minutes, which soon lapsed into ten. Jittery and siphoned into Pesterchum, he found solace in chugging the rest of his coffee.

CG: I’M BACK, SORRY.

CG: JUST CHECKING, BUT YOU ARE JUST OVER FIVE AND A HALF, RIGHT?

EB: …

Maybe he was too quick to trust.

CG: 12 IN HUMAN.

EB: oh.

EB: yeah.

CG: OKAY.

CG: PREPARE YOURSELF.

CG: I KNOW IT WILL BE REALLY HARD FOR YOU TO GRASP.

CG: I HOPE YOU BELIEVE ME, OR I’VE WASTED HOURS OF MY TIME.

CG: IT’S EXTREMELY CONFUSING.

CG: AND THERE’S A BUNCH OF IT.

CG: A BUNCH OF CONFUSING BULL-SHIT.

EB: dude, just tell me.

CG: I’M FROM THE FUTURE.

CG: THERE’S A LOT OF SHIT GOING ON THERE.

CG: HONESTLY, IT FUCKING SUCKS.

CG: IT SUCKS SO MUCH NOOK.

CG: GAMZEE’S KILLING EVERYONE AND JACK’S DEAD AND LORD ENGLISH IS WRECKING HAVOC.

CG: AND YOU’RE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.

CG: AND THERE’S THIS MULTICOLORED VERSION.

CG: I NEED YOUR HELP.

EB: how?

CG: WELL.

CG: NEXT YEAR, YOU’LL GET A GAME.

CG: YOU DO *NOT* PLAY THIS GAME.

EB: can i ask why?

CG: YOU

CG: WILL

CG: ***DIE***

EB: oh.

CG: YEAH, EXACTLY.

A disastrous thought bloomed between his eyebrows.

EB: can i ask a question?

CG: YOU JUST DID.

EB: …

CG: WHATEVER.

CG: GO AHEAD.

CG: IT ISN’T LIKE THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE DEPENDS ON THESE QUESTIONS.

CG: YOU KNOW, THE ONES THAT I ASK.

EB: why do you care about me?

CG: WELL.

CG: UM.

CG: IT’S COMPLICATED.

EB: take your time.

CG: OKAY.

CG: IN THE FUTURE, EVERYTHING’S REALLY SHITTY.

CG: BY THAT I MEAN IT’S THE BIGGEST BAG OF FECES CONCOCTED TOGETHER.

CG: EVERYTHING’S HAYWIRE.

CG: EVERYTHING’S HYPERSENSITIVE.

CG: CERTAIN PEOPLE DON’T HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS.

CG: THE REST OF MY KIND AND I ARE FUCKING TRAPPED IN THE GAME,

CG: THANKS TO THIS DOUCHE WITHOUT A FACE.

CG: YOU FLESH-SACKS AREN’T.

EB: so, you’re just telling me this for the greater good.

CG: NOT COMPLETELY.

EB: …?

CG: I’M TELLING YOU THIS TO GET YOU OUT OF IT.

CG: SO YOU DON’T FUCKING DIE.

EB: is it for sure that i will die?

CG: NO.

CG: BUT YOU GO THROUGH HORRIFIC SHIT, MAN.

EB: why even care about me?

CG: WELL.

I JUST

CG: DON’T WANT A BRO BEING TREATED LIKE THAT I GUESS.

CG: THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL FRIENDS, RIGHT?

EB: yeah.

EB: since we are friends, will i talk to you after this?

CG: I HEAVILY DOUBT IT.

EB: …oh.

CG: WHY.

CG: FUCK, HAVE I UPSET YOU?

EB: no, no.

EB: you’re fine…

CG: DAMMIT.

CG: JOHN, I’M SORRY.

This shouldn’t matter. John knew it shouldn’t. he had met this – this idiot a few hours ago. That was it.

There was a festering, ugly feeling of loss in his stomach, and it had no reason to be there.

EB: don’t be.

EB: it was nice talking to you tonight.

CG: YEAH.

CG: COOL TALKING TO YOU TOO.

He pushed his chair away from his desk. In his mind was the feeling a child harbored when his favorite you was ripped away. A wave of chilled nausea quaked all of him, every bit of him, yanked the hair from his arms.

EB: good-bye, then.

EB: i won’t touch the game.

CG: OKAY.

EB: okay.

Tired.

He was tired.

Shaking with unsatisfied exhaustion. His eyes were giving up, and he was shutting down.

CG: WAIT.

CG: JOHN WAIT.

EB: yes?

CG: I UM.

CG: I GUESS I’LL MISS YOU.

Regardless of stupidity, John found himself helpless to deny.

EB: i’ll miss you too.


End file.
